When Draco Met Myrtle
by Sue Bridehead
Summary: An unusual pair strike up a friendship. HBP spoilers, so proceed with caution. One shot.


Author's Notes: And now for something completely different . . a little behind the scenes of 'what might have happened' in "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince." This is my vision of how a friendship began. It's not really a romance – sorry, but one can't very well snog a ghost!

Thanks for reading, and please review when you are done. (Fyrechild, thank you for beta reading it.)

_**WHEN DRACO MET MYRTLE**_

Moaning Myrtle was having her favorite kind of day.

The cold, dreary afternoon and the dark corridors complemented her somber mood perfectly. They made it easier to dwell on lovely, depressing thoughts. Nothing pleased her more than whiling the afternoon away, wallowing in self-pity. The few students she had happened upon were all very glum; simply put, the ghost with the thick glasses and pigtails was tickled pink.

Feeling very content with herself, she sighed deeply and floated into the nearest bathroom. It was a boys' room, but since when did that matter to her? Most people took no notice of her anyway, boys especially. Even before she died, she was practically transparent to them. She sniffed at the thought, and her lower lip trembled slightly.

When she heard someone sobbing softly from the far side of the room, she had a flash of inspiration, a moment of hope. _A kindred spirit, perhaps? Maybe even a new ghost in the castle – ooh, that would be lovely! Someone to share in my misery . ._

Myrtle drifted through the dimly-lit room and silently floated toward the stranger. It was a boy, one she knew; not by name, but by sight. He had a rather distinctive, sophisticated look, as well as the palest skin and lightest shade of hair she had seen in decades. Judging by the size of him, he looked a bit too old to be sitting on the cold stone floor, crying for his mum.

Unaware of her presence, he started to mumble to himself. "It's not bloody fair. I can't – just can't . . " He burst into tears and pounded the floor with his fist, as if he were stabbing a knife into it.

The ghost watched him, mesmerized, curious what was troubling him so. She wondered _what_ was unfair . . . what he had to do but felt he couldn't?

This boy was obviously in pain; she couldn't just sit by and watch. After all, who knew more about pain than her?

Slowly, cautiously, she drifted a little closer to him.

"What's wrong?" she asked the weeping young man as she hovered close to him.

Startled, he turned on her. His face colored, and his gray eyes flashed angrily at her. "How the hell did _you_ get in here? I blocked the door with a very strong repelling charm!"

Offended, Myrtle snorted and informed him curtly, "I don't use _doors_. In case you hadn't noticed—"

She suddenly rose several feet into the air and then flew back down as if pushed by a hearty gust of wind. "Silly repelling charms won't keep me out, no matter how strong they are!" She glared at him through her horribly-outdated spectacles.

"Oh. I see now. You're, uh—"

"Dead," she snapped, filling in the word he hadn't vocalized.

He furrowed his brows and said, "Well, you still don't have the right to butt in!" He closed his eyes very tightly, squeezing out a few more tears and wiping them away.

Remembering that she was here because she had felt sorry for him, she changed her tone.

"What's your name?" she asked gently.

The boy laughed mirthlessly and scoffed, "I'd rather not say. That's all I need, a ghost running about Hogwarts telling the whole castle how she saw . . _me_, bawling hysterically and admitting . . that . . . that I've failed. Failed before I even started."

He bowed his head in his hands and moaned through his tears, "I'm completely worthless. My family needs me. But when it comes down to it, I'm not any good to them. And because of me, they're all going to die. It's not _fair!_" Rising to his feet, he swung his arms at imaginary enemies.

Myrtle felt like crying for this lost boy, this misguided creature, who only wanted to help his family. Who would ever want to hurt the family of such a noble, admirable young man?

She said softly, "I'm so sorry it has to be that way. If it's any comfort, I know what you mean. I was always somewhat of a disappointment to my family—"

He ground his teeth, and pointing a finger in her face, shouted defiantly, "I am **NOT** a disappointment! My family loves me! They would stand by me through _anything_. If he . . if I was told to go through hell and slay a thousand demons, my family would go there with me!"

He blew out a frustrated sigh and rubbed his eyes. Looking utterly exhausted, he sank back down to the floor with his back to the wall and sobbed.

"I'm sorry," the ghost murmured again. "I meant . . It's just . . "

Truth be told, she didn't know _what_ to say. So she let him talk.

And talk he did.

He wiped his eyes and face then cleared his throat. "My father is a very important man. He holds a powerful position in the Ministry of Magic. Or rather, he _held_ a position; he lost his job. A few months ago, he was wrongfully accused of—"

He paused and sniffed. "Of something he did not do.

"Oh, how awful!" Myrtle said with a pout.

The boy ignored her comment and went on. "And if he was there – which I'm sure he wasn't – then it wasn't his fault. I _know_ the man, and believe me, he was under the Imperius Curse. And yet he without so much as a trial, he was packed up and hauled off to Azkaban, like a common criminal!"

"No," the specter gasped, her mouth shaping into a large O. She was appalled that the Ministry would do such a thing to an innocent man!

"Tell me about it," he grunted. "I mean, for Merlin's sake! My father has donated countless Galleons each year to Saint Mungo's and other charitable causes and had even been on the board of governors for this school for years. How could they even _think_ he'd be a criminal?"

"You poor thing. You must miss him dreadfully." Then as if the thought had just occurred to her, she breathed, "And your mother! What about her?"

He rolled his eyes and moaned, "That's the worst part. She's lost without him. My mother only lived to help him – and ever since he was taken away, she's been a total wreck! She's terribly depressed. And with me off at school, the poor woman has no one. It's been absolute hell for her."

The young wizard sat quietly and thought for a moment or two; the ghost watched him with sympathetic eyes.

"Still . . I can't wait for the Christmas hols so I can see her. She'll hug me and give me loads of presents. I've got a really nice one for her. You should see it. It's a gorgeous sapphire necklace. The stone is huge and is laced with diamonds. The silver chain will accent her alabaster skin perfectly. Mother will love it," he said with a smile.

Myrtle remarked, "That's sweet. You're such a nice boy. What year are you in?"

"I'm a sixth-year. Same as 'Harry-Effing-Potter'. Dumbledore's most famous arsekisser." She giggled.

He chuckled and said, "Oh, so you know old Scarhead?"

"Yes, I've met Harry. A couple of years ago, and once before."

"Oh, so you also have the misfortune of knowing him?" he grimaced. "What a prat. I offered to be his friend, show him how things worked, help him out. And what did he do? He snubbed me. _He_ snubbed **me!** I was only trying to help the little freak."

"So you're saying you _don't_ like him?" she teased.

"What's to like?" he grumbled. "Stupid git thinks he's special because he survived an attack by You-Know-Who. He bends the rules to fit his own personal needs, obeying only the ones that benefit him and his half-witted friends.

"Last year, he formed a secret, illegal committee to fight against this school Headmistress, Professor Umbridge, right inside this castle! How arrogant is that? And she was a bloody good teacher, and an excellent leader – just what Hogwarts needed!"

Spellbound, Myrtle nodded in silent agreement.

He bragged with a smirk, "I was one of her favorites, you know. She appointed me to head up her inquisitorial squad. It was right fun, too." He smiled, and his sharp jaw and tight expression softened.

"You should smile more often. It makes you look more handsome."

He blushed then continued his diatribe against The Boy Who Lived. "But let me tell you, Potter really botched it! He struck me, after a Quidditch match. He just came at me, swinging, for no good reason!"

Her eyes drew wide. She could scarcely imagine Harry ever hitting someone, especially someone as kind as this boy.

"No, really, he did! Scarhead and two of those redheaded, poor-as-dirt Weasleys – they bloody _attacked_ me! Of course, when Umbridge found out, they all managed to get their arses banned from the sport."

"Well, I should hope so. She had every right to do that."

He exhaled loudly. "My luck's turned badly, though. He got right back on his house team, was even named team captain, the minute Dumbledore returned. Gods, I hate them both!"

The room was silent for several moments. Suddenly, a loud thump came through the door, followed by the sound of a startled young boy shouting, "What the—?"

Soon, one more boy, then another shoved against the door and found themselves thrown back as well.

"Persistent little buggers, aren't they?" he said with a smirk.

She smiled. "They just won't take a hint!"

Watching him intently, she bit her lip and dipped her head demurely. He let out a long sigh then said, "Suppose I'd better go anyway. Don't want those little wankers to wet themselves."

"It was really nice talking to you," Myrtle said. "I hope we meet again soon."

"Me too, errr . . "

She pointed to herself and stuttered slightly when she said, "M-Myrtle. Some people call me 'Moaning Myrtle' because I – well, I have a tendency to, you know, cry." She shrugged her shoulders and gave him a tight smile.

He nodded and said, "Right. Nice to meet you, Myrtle." Then he moved toward the door to remove the repelling charm.

She flew in front of him quickly and asked, "Y-you still won't tell me your name?", sounding very hurt.

He narrowed his silvery eyes and thought for a moment, as if deciding whether she seemed trustworthy or not.

"You won't tell Potter – or _anyone_ – that we've talked? That I'm . . having a hard time with something?" he asked very seriously. She moved her mouth wordlessly.

"It's very important, Myrtle. A matter of life and death. I have to know I can trust you."

"You can trust me," she promised earnestly.

And for some reason he didn't quite understand, he believed her.

"My name is Draco. Draco Malfoy."

End

Notes: Hope you enjoyed this little one-shot. If not, you can blame the plot bunnies; they got me again! 

For any of you who thought Draco was _too_ nice or trusting . . I just figured that since Myrtle ended up liking him (and actually looked forward to seeing him), there must have been some mutual respect and trust, so I based my interpretation from that.


End file.
